Colin Forbes - By Stealth

The same woman – whoever it was – had killed a cab driver in Brussels to steal his cab. Cyanosis. And the smell of a perfume. Guerlain Samsara. The same woman had driven down Sir Gerald Andover in Liege. And had probably killed Joseph Mordaunt. Cyanosis. Yes, he hoped that the Burgoyne Quartet turned up at the d'Angleterre.

At the tip of the German island of Fehmarn, at Puttgarden, Newman drove the Mercedes inside the giant maw of the huge ferry. Arriving early, he had positioned himself at the head of the vehicle queue. Parking next to the side of the lowest deck, he switched off the engine.

`I think I'll stay with the Merc.,' Cardon said. 'Then I can make sure no one tampers with it. I'll tuck myself inside that alcove.

Thirty minutes later, Tweed stood alongside Newman on the main deck near the prow. He had taken a Dramamine after eating breakfast in ancient Lubeck, a town he loved out of season. The massive ferry moved out into the Baltic in the face of a strong wind. Large surf-tipped waves rolled towards them.

`You usually stay inside,' Newman commented. 'It's going to he a rough crossing.'

`I need the fresh air to keep my brain moving…'

Sunk deep in thought, the passage seemed over in a flash to Tweed. They drove off at Rodby and were in Denmark.

Still sunk deep in thought, the car drive to Copenhagen also passed in a flash for Tweed. They drove past the old pre-First World War railway station and into a part of Copenhagen few tourists ever visited.

Following Tweed's instructions, they drove past the grim and grey triangular building which is police headquarters. They turned on to Hambrosgade, a long wide anonymous street running past one side of the triangular building. Newman stared when Tweed pointed to a collection of single-storey wooden cabins.

`Nielsen works here. Park.'

Newman gazed at a very long cabin built of wooden planks and painted bright red. The legend on the side read KRIMINAL POLITIET. Cardon said again he would stay with the Merc. as Newman followed Tweed, who walked up to the door, pressed the bell. Inspector Lars Nielsen, Chief of Police Intelligence, opened the door himself.

`Welcome to Copenhagen, Tweed. And I recognize you,' he said, studying Newman. 'The foreign correspondent. Come inside. Everything is happening.'

Nielsen was a small thin-faced Dane with strong features and alert blue eyes which seemed to look inside you. The office he led them into was comfortably furnished, to Newman's surprise.

`How did you come to be expecting me?' Tweed asked after a warm shaking of hands.

`Otto Kuhlmann phoned me, estimated very accurately when you would arrive. You have to phone him urgently. That phone is scrambler. You'd both like coffee? Good. Have you eaten? Good. I'll be back. Make your call…'

`Kuhlmann here. Ah, Tweed. Where are you speaking from? You've arrived at Nielsen's log cabin? Marler called me. You should call him now. You have the number? Do it now. Call me back whenever I can help

…'

Tweed dialled the number in Tonder. He prepared himself to speak carefully to the hotel proprietor. Marler came straight on to the line.

`I'm speaking from my lodging house,' he warned.

Marler had no reason to think his landlady, Mrs Pedersen, now working behind a closed door in the kitchen, was listening in. But he was still going to be careful what he said.

`I'm with Nielsen in Copenhagen,' Tweed replied. `Have you discovered any sign of our missing package?'

Tweed held his breath. Package wasn't a very flattering way of referring to Paula, but he also was being cautious.

`No,' Marler told him bluntly. 'And we've had a delay over finding transport for Butler and Nield. I had to drive them to Avis in Esbjerg – the locals call it Espay, something like that. Both Nield and Butler are trying to locate our friendly doctor. Butler is the one likely to do the job.'

`There isn't much time left,' Tweed reminded him. `From now on you can get in touch with me either through Nielsen or at the Hotel d'Angleterre in Copenhagen. As soon as events dictate, I expect to arrive in Jutland myself.'

`That's it then for the moment. I'd better get out on the road myself…'

In the old house at Tonder Marler put down the phone. He felt relieved that Tweed had arrived in Denmark. But, by God, they had to track down Hyde soon. Time was not on their side.

Tweed was frantically but purposefully active during the next half-hour. He phoned Commander Noble at Admiralty.

`I'm sleeping on a camp bed here while this operation is in progress,' Noble said after being assured Tweed was on scrambler from Copenhagen. 'The Minotaur has the new radar system. Tug wants to know which area to patrol.'

`First tell me, have any more ships vanished?' Tweed asked. 'If so, that will give us some idea whereabouts the Stealth vessels I'm convinced are coming have reached.'

`A small oil-rig supply vessel has gone missing. North-east of the Shetlands. Between the islands and Norway.'

`Tug should patrol roughly twenty to thirty miles along the Jutland coast north of the Danish-German frontier,' Tweed suggested.

That was approximately the position of the cross on a map print Cardon had brought back from Lop Nor in War Room West.

`He's close to there now. And he's sent a small boat on a so-called courtesy visit to the port of Esbjerg. Equipped with a transmitter that can contact the Minotaur. Can you go to Esbjerg when the crisis is near?'

`I can. I will. Within the next twenty-four hours would be my guess, or maybe forty-eight. The mastermind behind all this is in Denmark,' Tweed said.

`Keep in touch. Take care…'

Tweed had earlier had confirmed to him by Nielsen the data previously passed to Kuhlmann: that Dr Wand had arrived by Lear jet at Kastrup Airport. Also the fact that from Kastrup he had driven himself in a limo to a villa outside Copenhagen.

`I had my best men watching Kastrup,' Nielsen had told him. 'They followed him in a van to Gentofte. The discreet but thorough surveillance continues. Dr Wand is still there.'

`Lars, I need to know urgently if Wand leaves that villa. And, if possible, where he's gone to…'

Nielsen had promised this would be done. Now, still alone with Newman, Tweed phoned three other key men. First, the Special Branch officer in London he had warned earlier about Moor's Landing. While travelling to Copenhagen in the Mercedes Tweed had worked out what three o'clock in the morning would be in different countries -bearing in mind the different clock times.

`Tweed here. It doesn't matter where I'm calling from…'

`Howard came to see me,' the officer told him, phrasing his words carefully. 'I know about your official resignation. I'm listening.'

`The time is approaching for your raid on Moor's Landing. I want the place sealed off, then turned over at three am. All the inhabitants must be arrested as illegal immigrants. I'm synchronizing this when the time comes with three other raids on the continent. Timing is vital.'

`I'll send a large team to hide in the Southampton area at once.'

`Good. And don't forget to grab Mrs Goshawk at April Lodge in Brockenhurst.'

`Already noted.'

`When I call you to act I may be short of time. The code-word for the operation is Landslide.'

`Landslide it will be…'

Tweed next phoned Benoit, gave him similar instructions to raid Vieux-Fontaine, the colony of new houses Paula and Marler had discovered outside Ghent. He gave him the same code-word, Benoit gave him a similar reaction.

`A team of heavily armed men will be prepared at once. I will lead the raid myself. We'll drag the bastards out of bed, search the houses from top to bottom. I await your call…'

The third call was to Otto Kuhlmann at Berliner Tor. The German listened, also said he would organize a strike force to stand by. Objective: Neustadt-Something, the colony of new houses west of Blankenese.